My Mind on Shuffle

Chandler: What is it?  Is it my hair?

Rachel: (sarcastically) Yes, you have gay hair.*

Much to my chagrin, I find that my “lifestyle choice” or “sexuality”, if you will, come into question far more often than I believe is necessary.  Before we launch into this discussion let me say that A) No, I am not gay, 2) there really isn’t anything wrong with that, either way.**  That being said, here are just a random sampling of the times that I have personally found my own lifestyle called into question.***

• Dining with a group of friends at a Chinese joint in Valpo, Roommate and I decided to order two dishes and share them.  This devolved into bickering over chow mein vs. lo mein, etc.  Our (very hot) waitress seemed somewhat off-put by our discussion.  To mollify her, we informed her that, “It’s okay, we live together.”  She made the big, “Okay now I get it” smile, and we got on with our dinner.  Only later did we realize how uber-gay we came off in this whole exchange.

• A fellow Valpo student’s wife was taken aback when she saw me holding hands with my girlfriend and asked her husband what the deal was.  He couldn’t understand what her problem was to which she responded, “Isn’t he, you know, gay?  I mean, he always dresses so well.”

• Another Valpo person (again, a vaguely hot girl; why do the hot ones always have to get the wrong idea?) questioned whether or not Andy and I were a couple.

• The creepy, lazy-eyed janitor at my first teaching job approached me after school one day.  “Can I ask you a personal question?” he said.  That was warning bell number one.  What possible personal question could be coming from this guy who I barely knew/interacted with?  Sure enough, he wanted to know if I was, you know, gay.  He was fine with it of course, and I got the vague sense that he was somewhat hitting on me.  Yikes.

• A student at my second teaching job left me a note on my desk to the effect of: “Dear Mr. Medcalf,  Are you gay?  I only ask cause some other kids said you were and I told them you weren’t.  So I was just wondering.  Write me back and let me know.  Your student, XXXXX.”  Only with more spelling errors and painful seventh grade grammar.  That made for a fun little discussion the next day.

I really wish I had a good explanation for this.  I like to take the angle of the aforementioned friend’s wife and write it off to being well dressed.  Clearly that can’t be the only thing though right?  In the grand scheme of things, it’s really not a big deal, although it’s somewhat unsettling to get approached about it this often.  I mean, I do subscribe to Esquire and GQ, but I also get SI and ESPN, and how would these people know that anyway?  I think it’s just become some sort of societal construct.  The fact that I’m polite, well-spoken, fashionable, young and single seems to mean that there’s at least a fifty-fifty shot that I dig dudes.  Maybe I should bathe less or something.****

The moral of the story?  Ladies, despite any “vibes” you may think you’re getting, no, I am not into guys.  I am into you.  Unless you’re skanky.  Or dumb.  Or a whole list of other things.  But at least I’m into your gender.

*You were all ready for a Seinfeld quote from the title now weren’t you?

**I’m not trying to make any sort of political/moral statement here one way or another.  Basically, what (or whom) you do is your business.

***That I know about.

****No I shouldn’t, that’s gross.

And I’m back.  For the record, I survived my 25th and even achieved a little gainful employment before it occured.  So even if I was extremely single, living at home, etc. when it hit, at least I was employed.  Granted, they f-ed up my paper work, so I have yet to get paid, but hey work is work, right?  In addition, I finally got the spark of inspiration I’ve been waiting for to start writing a screenplay.  No I won’t tell you.  You worthless, anonymous internet bastards will rip me off!  I will only tell you that this idea is A) epic, 2) awesome and 3) also Roommate’s idea.  So I don’t need any more collaborators, but thanks for asking.  I also got a chance to meet The Baby.  Have you met a baby lately?  Here’s my reaction (AnK, take no offense, this is all about me, and nothing about Wesley in particular).  First off.  It’s weird to refer to a Baby by it’s name.  Don’t ask me why.  It’s really probably pretty normal.  For me, a little strange.  Two: babies weird me out a little.  Part of this is because I haven’t been up close and personal with a baby in a long-ass time.  AnK won the pregnancy race out of all my friends and my youngest cousin is only about nine years younger than me.  I don’t know how to act around them.  I’m afraid I’ll break them somehow.  At any rate, despite previous rants regarding my five year plan, I’m clearly in no way ready to spawn on my own.

Now that that’s out of the way… Here’s another installment of the ever-popular (although I’ve been receiving an increasing number of jell-o shot related hits lately) Chuck Klosterman series.  The italics are all ripped off, blahbity blahbity blah, all copyright information cited previously.  And now, on with the show…

11) You are watching a movie in a crowded theater.  Though the plot is mediocre, you find yourself dazzled by the special effects.  But with twenty minutes left in the film, you are struck with an undeniable feeling of doom: You are suddenly certain your mother has just died.  There is no logical reason for this to be true, but you are certain of it.  You are overtaken with the irrational metaphysical sense that – somewhere – you mom has just perished.  But this is only an intuitive, amorphous feeling; there is no evidence for this, and your mother has not been ill.  Would you immediately exit the theater, or would you finish watching the movie?

Finish the movie for the following, terribly callous, reasons:

1) I don’t trust my “feelings” that much.  My feelings tell me things like, “the only way people could think you were funnier now is if you got even more wasted and stupid” or “you need to finish having kids by the time you’re thirty”.  Screw my intuition.

2) This is a movie theater movie.  If I walk out, I probably won’t catch the end until it comes out on dvd and they always leave the best effects for the end.

3) If my mom does happen to be dead, what am I going to do about it in those twenty minutes I save by leaving early?  If she’s not, I’ll feel bad about being secretly pissed that I left the movie for nothing.

12. You meet a wizard in downtown Chicago.  The wizard tells you he can make you more attractive if you pay him money.  When you aks how this process works, the wizard points to a random person on the street.  You look at this random stranger.  The wizard says, “I wll now make them a dollar more attractive.”  He waves his magic wand.  Ostensibly, this person does not change at all; as far as you can tell, nothing is different.  But – somehow – this person is suddenly a little more appealing.  The tangible difference is invisible to the naked eye, but you can’t deny that this person is vaguely sexier.  This wizard has a weird rule, though – you can only pay him once.  You can’t keep giving him money until you’re satisfied.  You can only pay him one lump sum up front.  How much cash do you give the wizard?

My net worth minus expenses for the next two weeks.  A) I need all the help I can get.  2) Everything is easier/better when you’re hot.  Right?

13. Every person you have ever slept with is invited to a banquet where you are the guest of honor.  No one will be in attendance except you, the collection of your former lovers, and the catering service.  After the meal, you are asked to give a fifteen-minute speech to the assembly.  What do you talk about?

At the risk of sharing too much personal information, I justify why I rented out a banquet hall and hired caterers for me, myself and I.*

*Check it out, I made it all the way through without footnoting… Oops…